To Fall
by scarylolita
Summary: Craig's boyfriends always leave with the same complaint: "You're high maintenance." He is manipulative and Clyde always falls into his traps. This time, however, he has a hard time getting out. Soon enough, he's drowning. Slash.


**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**All in Clyde's POV again c: I'm having fun with these two lately.**

**Warnings: mentions of dubcon**

* * *

_There's a place__ t__hat I've found__  
__Full of sins__ t__hat you've drowned_

The Belle Game

**January 26.**

Craig has had a lot of boyfriends. In the end, they always leave with the same complaint: _"You're high maintenance." _Sometimes it's phrased differently. Sometimes they'll say, "_Sorry, I can't handle a guy like you at this point in my life_," or, "_You're too much_," but other times they're a little more straightforward: "_Dude, you're fucked up_." In the end, it all means the same shit. He gets fucked and chucked.

Craig brought his first boyfriend back to Laura and Thomas when he was thirteen. Thomas brought a can of mace to Craig the following day and told him not to hesitate to use it. Craig never does. He gets a lot of shit from his dad's redneck friends for liking dick, but Thomas is pretty aggressive when it comes to defending his son. Craig was sure his dad would beat the shit out of him when he came out, but he didn't. When Craig realized what he wanted, he didn't put off letting it be known. He's headstrong like that.

Craig seems like a mean guy until you break past the mask he likes to wear. Then he's no longer a cold-hearted asshole. He's still a bit sour but he's also clingy and in need of constant reassurance. I'm his best friend and I don't mind giving it to him when he asks for it, but at the same time I also understand what people mean when they say he's high maintenance. He is.

Craig turned eighteen years old yesterday. January twenty-fifth. He got really high on some pills he got from Kenny fuckface McCormick. He topped it off with straight whisky. Sometimes I think Kenny is the only reason Craig still does drugs. He's always carrying. They were into that lifestyle for a while – back when they dated. That relationship lasted all of five minutes and all they did was fight. And fuck. They have their worst personality traits in common, so everyone pretty much knew it wasn't gonna work out. Now Kenny just sells and Craig is always there to buy or suck his dick.

We went to an all-ages nightclub with a bunch of other kids and around midnight Craig started freaking out, so I drove him home. Whenever we're at parties, I stay sober because it always ends the same way: Craig gets too high or too drunk and loses his shit.

I ended up bringing him back to my house so his parents wouldn't throw a fit. My dad, unlike his, doesn't really give a shit who I bring home or why.

"People are calling me Sloppy Seconds," Craig mumbles. He just woke up and I'm nursing him through another migraine. He gets these really bad migraines where he goes rigid. He has been getting migraines for a long time. The first time I saw it happen was when we were eleven. He wasn't at school, so after classes I went to deliver his homework. I heard him wailing before his mother even opened the front door. When she did, it got louder. I thought it was strange because Craig wasn't the kind of person who showed emotion. Craig with a migraine is scary, though he deals with it differently these days. Now that he's older and his pain tolerance is higher, he's not as vocal. I guess he realized screaming and crying wasn't exactly making things better. Instead, he won't move and his entire body seizes up like rigor mortis. He can't relax. I see him grinding his teeth. Sometimes he'll throw up. Why? All because his anxiety sky rockets. He doesn't seem like it, but Craig worries about every little damn thing.

I feel like he gets them more frequently now. I don't know if it's because of the pills he shouldn't be taking or if it's because of the pills he should be taking. He's depressed as fuck. I don't really know why. He takes Zoloft. Well… he's supposed to. He says the pills give him worse migraines. He takes it sporadically and then goes through cry-fits. According to Token, his tears are never genuine. He just does it to manipulate people around him. I don't know whether or not to believe it. I don't know if Craig is a good enough actor to be able to fake that kind of emotion. He also gets night terrors. Now, those… I _know_ he's not faking.

"Who is calling you that?" I ask, pressing an ice pack to his forehead. "I'll beat them up."

"Eric Cartman started it," he reveals, "but I doubt you want to start a fight with him. He'll just sit on you and you'll suffocate."

Craig just got dumped for what feels like the millionth time. Fortunately, he doesn't seem too broken up over it. I guess he didn't like this guy as much as some of the other ones. I've nursed him through some pretty rough breakups. I feel like I'm always nursing him through something. It's a bit of a cycle, but that's not to say I'm a perfect saint. I'm not. I have my own issues and Craig helps me to the best of his abilities. It's give and take with us.

I'm not even sure where Craig finds half of the guys he goes with. They seem to appear out of thin air and none of them stay after realizing how high maintenance is. A nice ass just ain't worth it, I guess.

"Probably," I admit. I know I'm well built, but I'm no match for his fat ass.

"I fucking hate him," Craig mutters.

"Yeah, I think everyone hates him at least a little bit," I say. "Even his friends."

Before Craig got braces, Cartman called him Snaggle-Toothed Bitch. After he got braces, Cartman called him Braceface. As soon as the nickname grows stale, the fat ass comes up with a new one.

"And for some reason he still manages to get laid," Craig snorts.

"Weird," I mumble.

"You still fucking Bebe?" Craig asks me unceremoniously.

"She's going with Kyle now," I remind him.

"So?"

I stare at him in disbelief. "I'm not that kind of guy, dude."

He closes his eyes and lets out a _hum_ sound. "If you like someone enough, everyone has the potential to be that kind of guy."

"You're so jaded," I tell him.

Craig is the most negative person I know. He refuses to see the good in any situation. I used to try to argue with him and convince him that good still exists, but I've since learned there's no point.

* * *

**February 07.**

I'm on my way to pick up Craig. He says his ass hurts and he doesn't want to walk home. Craig is such a filthy guy. I don't know how he manages to stay sane and live like this.

I drive to the outskirts of town and pick him up near a bus stop on the side of the road. He's wearing a blue chullo hat, his parka and heavy duty boots tucked into what looks like pajama pants. Once he opens the passenger door, I decide to pry. "What the hell happened?" I ask him.

"Really rough sex," he answers, sitting down gingerly.

"_Why_?" I practically shout.

"Because I like it," he says, putting his seatbelt on. "Let's go."

I shake my head at him, nonetheless doing what he says. The entire time he's shifting and whining. Soon enough, we pull into his driveway.

"Come in with me," he demands. "I want my parents to assume I was with you."

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I relent. I always feel bad doing this. I hate lying to Craig's parents because I know how much they like me. They say it enough and then I feel even guiltier.

Nonetheless, I park and we get out of the car. I watch, trying to stifle a laugh as Craig hobbles inside. "Shut the fuck up," he says to me, not finding it as funny as I do.

"Craig?" we hear Laura call as we're taking off our coats and boots.

"Yeah," Craig calls back and a second later she appears in the front entrance from the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetie," she greets him before greeting me, "Hi, Clyde. Nice to see you."

"You, too," I say, smiling politely.

Laura favors me. She's said it a few times before. She is glad Craig has a friend like me because she knows I have my shit together. Which is true, for the most part. Sure, I have some problems, but definitely not as many problems as Craig has. Laura and Thomas both think I'm a _nice and stable_ young man who is a good influence on their _very __troubled_ son.

"Where did you boys go?" she pries.

"Late movie," Craig answers.

"What did you see?" she asks.

Laura often questions him like this. She knows he gets into a lot of trouble when he's left alone and she doesn't want him to keep going through shit. Sadly, Craig has gotten good at lying.

"_Birdman_."

"Was it good?"

"It was all right."

"What was it about?"

Craig proceeds to give her what sounds like a perfect summarization of the movie's events. With that, she seems satisfied. She thanks me for driving him home and then tells us she'll be in the kitchen if we need anything.

Once she's gone, me and Craig move upstairs.

"Did you actually see that movie?" I ask.

"No," he admits. "I just looked up the summary earlier."

"You're such a fucking lying sack of shit, dude," I tell him bluntly. "How can you lie like that to your mom?"

He smiles faintly. "Because I'm a sack of shit?"

I can only sigh.

Once we step into his room he sticks his hands down the back of his pants and starts complaining. "Fucking ass hurts like a motherfucker…"

"Go to the doctor," I say. "What if you have, like, anal prolapse."

He grimaces at that. "I don't. I think I'd know if my asshole was literally falling out. That's not what it feels like."

"Well, then, I dunno, dude…" I tell him, shrugging.

"Check it out for me," he says.

I immediately recoil and exclaim, "No way! I'm not doing anything like that _ever_ again!"

It was bad enough when he made me look at his dick to see if he had an STI. Turns out, he had chlamydia.

"Just look at it!" he snaps. "It's not a big deal!"

"Yeah, it is!" I snap back, sounding shrill to my own ears.

Craig's cheeks are red. He probably hates to ask me. "Come on," he urges impatiently. "It's not like I'm asking you to stick your dick inside, I just need you to look at my ass and make sure it looks normal." A pause. "Please?"

"Fine," I say tersely.

He nods for me to follow him across the hall and into the bathroom. I flick on the lights and shut the door once we're inside. He hikes his pants down below his ass and bends over the counter before spreading his cheeks. I kneel down and take a gander. My face feels hot and it's pretty obvious I'm probably redder than Craig is.

At least he has a nice ass. It's firm and smooth looking – probably fuckable in the eyes of many.

Wow, that sounded gay.

I clear my throat. "It looks fine," I mumble, eying the pink hole between his butt cheeks. "Uh, normal."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Positive," I say, standing up. "But if it still hurts tomorrow you should probably go to a doctor. It could be, like, internal… y'know?"

"Ugh," he mutters, hiking his pants back up and turning around. "You're blushing," he points out.

"No shit," I say. "You just made me look at your asshole. You're blushing, too."

He just laughs. It's rare to see Craig laugh. His entire face lights up when he does it. His eyes squint and he gets dimples in his cheeks. "That was pretty gay," he says.

"Yeah, no shit," I snort. "That was literally the gayest thing I've ever done… but you're the one that fucks guys. Not me."

"Yeah," he agrees, "but that doesn't stop you from worshipping me."

"I don't worship you," I protest.

"Yes, you do," he insists. "You do everything I ask. Sometimes I need to ask more than once, but you always relent. When we fight, you're always the one to say sorry even if it wasn't your fault."

"Y'know," I start, "all of this makes you sound like a real jackass."

"I _am_ a jackass," he admits. "I'm a bad person. I'm manipulative and cold and I don't care about people or myself."

I frown, wondering where he's going with this. "Dude –" I start, but he cuts me off.

"That's what everyone thinks, at least," he finishes, shrugging. "We're polar opposites in every way possible. You're the nice one. I'm the shit-head. That's why we're best friends. We even each other out. That way people can tolerate being around me."

"Is that why we're friends?" I ask him.

"That and maybe more."

I guess he's right. We don't have many similarities. I'm taller than him. I'm broad and he's slim. I'm tanned and he's pale. He's got kind of a Snow White thing going on, though he'd probably rip off my nuts if I said that to him. Where I'm friendly and extroverted, Craig is sour and introverted. Yet, still, Craig has people crowding around him. Probably just because he's good looking. I'm straight, but I'll admit my best friend is a good looking guy. If I liked men, I'd definitely want a piece.

We kissed. _ONCE_. It was on New Year's in 2012. We were both single and drunk, so we said, "Fuck it." I ended up catching mono from him shortly after, though I don't know if it was the kiss or just close contact that did me in. Who the hell knows who he got it from?

Since my dad is a dick and since Craig was already infected, I spent most of my sick days at his house. His mom was nice to us and didn't make any jokes. Alas, when we got back to school we were the ass end of every gay joke you can think of. Kids are dicks like that.

"What are you thinking about?" Craig asks me.

"You, my best pal," I coo, pinching his cheek. "No friendship could ever rival ours."

He just slaps my hand away.

* * *

**February 13.**

Craig's butt is back to normal.

We're at Bebe's house playing drinking games in the basement. It seems like almost everyone in the room is coupled up. Token is with Nichole. Bebe is with Kyle. Wendy is with Stan. Kevin is with Red. Butters is with some Raisin's girl. Kenny is with Tweek. Cartman is with Patty. Jason is with Annie. For fuck's sake me and Craig are the only two single losers in this joint, but I know for a fact that Craig has been fucked by Kyle, Jason, Tweek and Kenny. Even Red has fucked around with Craig a bit in the past. In Cartman's words, she was Craig's _fag hag._

The only person here I've had sex with is Bebe. We were on and off for a while until finally just ending things. Now she's with Kyle and they make a much better match.

"My turn," Bebe declares, swirling her cup around as she muses. "Hm… Never have I ever…" She lets out a loud belch and then says, "Fuck, sorry," before starting to laugh. "Okay, okay… Never have I ever had sex in public."

Craig and Kenny share a look and promptly take a drink. All I can do it roll my eyes. They're the two drunkest people in the room apart from Bebe, who probably started drinking before anyone even arrived.

I hate nights like his. I hate dirty party games like this.

"Never have I ever munched on a cock," Kyle says and everyone apart from me, Token, Stan and Kevin drinks.

"Never have I ever… fucked someone more than a year older than me," Jason says, giving Craig a smirk.

This time, Craig is the only one to drink and I can't help but grimace.

Cartman laughs boisterously. "All right, all right… Never have I ever been gang banged."

Craig looks pissed off. "What is this?" he asks tersely. "Everyone-attack-Craig night?"

"_Slut_," Cartman coughs out.

Wendy sneers at that. "Stop slut shaming, you stale piece of white bread."

Craig rubs his temples, seething. "How 'bout we leave?" I ask him. "You're already drunk enough as it is."

"Ah, ah, ah!" Bebe tuts at me. "You're not leaving until you're at least tipsy, mister."

"Craig is drunk enough for the both of us," I say.

Craig elbows me in the ribs, deciding to side with Bebe after that comment. "_Yeah_, Clyde, have a nice, long sip and _then_ we can leave."

"I work," I say, which is true. I do work tomorrow morning. My weekend shifts are usually pretty early, which is another reason why I tend not to drink. I can't do my job if I'm hung over. I work at the local gas station. It's easy money since we're rarely ever busy.

"Don't be a baby," Craig taunts.

"Fine," I growl at them before picking up my cup and downing its contents. "Ugh," I grimace when I'm done. The potent aftertaste is lingering. It tastes like paint thinner.

"Nicely done," Bebe applauds.

I stand up and take a bow. "All right," I say with finality. "_Now_ we're leaving."

After scattered goodbyes, I drag Craig upstairs to grab our boots and coats.

"Wanna crash at my house?" Craig offers.

"Sure," I accept. "We'll have the place to ourselves, huh?"

"Yup," he says. "My parents are still away."

"All right, cool."

We step outside and we brace ourselves for the cold. "It's pretty warm out!" Craig notes.

"That's because you're drunk," I point out. "The alcohol is keeping you warm."

He looks at me and then makes a face.

On the walk back, I start to feel the liquor. Fortunately, the walk isn't long. I don't want to start stumbling down the street like Craig is. At least one of us should remain coherent.

When we're just about at Craig's house, he slips on an ice patch and falls forward into a puddle of slush. I can't help but laugh at him.

"Rude…" he murmurs as he gets to his feet. "Ugh, I'm all wet…"

"That's what she said," I retort.

Craig shoves me, but it's not hard enough to make me fall. I just stumble backwards.

"Hey, now," I warn. "Don't do that."

"Suck my dick, Clyde," he snaps, stomping up his driveway. He's so touchy. He hates when people laugh at him, but sometimes I just can't help it.

I follow him inside and we remove out boots and coats. "Don't be sour," I tell him.

It's still fairly early, probably just a little past ten. Lucky for Craig, his parents are visiting their redneck relatives while Ruby stays at a friend's house. If they were home, we'd both me going to my house instead.

Craig flips me off and goes upstairs. We move into his room and he immediately starts stripping out of his wet clothes until he's left in a pair of tight, short boxer briefs. I stare him up and down. He looks even smaller without clothes on. Sometimes I forget he's a small guy because he talks big. Maybe that's why. He's no longer one of the tallest kids. He stopped growing before everyone else.

"What?" he asks somewhat defensively.

"Just looking," I admit, though I should probably deny it. He sits down on his bed and stares at me. It kind of makes me feel awkward. "Gonna get dressed?" I ask him. He shakes his head and, instead, waves me over.

I tentatively step forward and stare down at him where he sits. He stares up, reaching for the front of my shirt and pulling me down on top of him. This is why I try not to drink. I always screw up. I'm the horniest drunk in the world. I should push him away and say, "Hell no, we're both drunk and we're not gonna do this," but I don't. Instead, I kiss him back.

"I'm straight," I tell him, drawing away.

He gives me a dull look. "Half the guys that have fucked me say the same damn thing."

"You want me to fuck you?" I ask slowly. "Why…?"

"Maybe I kind of like you," he says.

The confession surprises me. "What?"

"Just a _tiny_ bit," he adds. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

I stare at him somewhat sympathetically. "I didn't know…"

"Shut up," he says, getting defensive again. "Just hurry up and get on with it."

"Uh…" I pause. "I've never done it with a guy before."

"Well, first you take off your clothes," he says, talking to me like I'm a dumbass.

"Ha-ha," I respond flatly. Nonetheless, I start shedding my clothes. I'm once again doing everything he wants – like some sort of obedient dog.

Craig stands up and moves towards his bureau, opening the first drawer. He gets a condom and a bottle of something which I assume is lube. "Watch and learn," he murmurs.

I stare at him and jerk myself off a bit before rolling on the condom. He pours lube on his fingers and gets on his knees, rear in the air as he stretches himself out. I can feel my dick twitching. This is definitely a side of him I never thought I'd see… but, objectively, it's not bad. I can see why guys like fucking him. Boring as Craig might be, he's a slut in the bedroom. I always knew that. Guys like that coy shit and playing coy is Craig's favorite game.

He removes the fingers, wiping the sticky residue on his bed sheets before pointing his ass in my direction. "Hurry," he murmurs.

I settle behind him on the mattress and position myself against his backside before slowly pushing forward. I grab him by the hips, staring down at his shoulders, his spine, the dimples on his back.

He keeps saying things like, "more," and, "harder," but I don't want to hurt him.

Am I a dick for not saying no? Probably.

Am I using him? Probably.

Will I regret this? Probably.

All these thoughts don't make a difference.

Craig comes first. It takes me a long time to come. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm drunk. Maybe it's because Craig is a boy. Maybe it's because I feel guilty. Either way, when I finally do blow my load, it's not even a good orgasm. It's just bad and full of shame.

When I pull out, I stare down at his backside. "Does it hurt?" I ask, rubbing between his ass cheeks.

"No," he murmurs. "It feels kinda numb…"

"Sorry," I apologize.

"It's fine," he says, finally sitting up.

I move away to dispose of the condom. I take a tissue from his desk and wipe the tip of my dick off before handing him one. He wipes off his stomach and then we simply stare at each other. I don't know how long we're just eying one another, but he's the first to break contact. He grabs a handful of blankets and lies down, pulling them up to his chin.

"Craig?" I say his name in a questioning tone, wanting to make sure he's okay.

No answer. He's pissed off. I don't even know why. Maybe he wanted this to happen differently. Maybe he didn't truly want it to happen at all.

With a sigh, I start picking up my clothes and getting dressed. I throw my shorts and jeans back on and then pull on my shirt and sweater.

"So," Craig sits up, letting the blankets pool around his waist, "now that you've had me are you going to leave, too?"

"I have to, dude," I tell him somewhat sympathetically. "I work 6AM until 12PM."

"Right," he mutters, dejected. "Work. You said you were going to stay here tonight."

"It's probably best that… I don't," I say slowly and awkwardly.

Craig laughs tersely, rolling his eyes at me before hiking the blankets back up and lying back down.

"Craig?" I say his name yet again.

"Fuck off," he mutters.

So, I do.

* * *

**February 14.**

It's Valentine's Day, not that I have anyone to celebrate with. For me, it's just another boring day.

After work, I go back to Craig's house. I grab the key under the rug and let myself in. After taking off my boots and coat, I move upstairs in time to see the bathroom door swing open.

Ruby is standing in just a towel, hair wet. She looks surprised to see me, but once that wears away she just looks annoyed. "Clyde, what the _fuck_?" she asks.

"Sorry." I hold up my hands and avert my eyes. "I thought everyone was still out, so I let myself in."

"I got home this morning," Ruby says. "Craig is still unconscious, though. He must've had too much fun last night."

"Yeah, there's one way to put it," I mutter.

"Go wake sleeping beauty," she teases with a snort before walking back down the hallway and into her room.

I turn around the corner and open Craig's door, slipping inside as quietly as I can. I tip toe towards his bed and lean over him. He's still asleep. He always looks so fucking peaceful when he's sleeping, almost ethereal.

As carefully as I can, I move to the other side of the bed and lie down next to him. After a few minutes, he stirs. Damn. I'm not done figuring out what I want to say to him.

"Clyde?" he says my name. His voice is crackly. He sniffles, sitting up and reaching for the glass of water sitting on his nightstand. He sips on it slowly.

"How's your head?" I ask him.

"Hurts," he admits groggily, "but it's bearable."

"That's good," I murmur.

"How was work?"

"Boring," I tell him, "but… that's not what I came to talk about."

"I know," he says. "So, get on with it, then," he invites.

"I'm sorry," I tell him sincerely.

He rolls his eyes at me, setting the glass back onto his nightstand like he's slamming down a shot glass. "You fucked me and left," he reiterates tersely, "just like everyone else. I expected more from you…"

"I was confused," I justify myself weakly, knowing there really isn't an excuse for it. "I didn't know what it meant."

"Why does it have to mean _anything_?" he asks me, exasperated.

"I'd like it to…" I admit. "I'm not the kind of guy who fucks around."

"Well, I am," he declares.

"You said you liked me," I remind him.

"I was only trying to butter you up," he mutters.

Oh.

Lovely.

Happy fuckin' Valentine's Day to me.

But I can't say that surprises me at all.

"Really?" I ask him.

"Really," he confirms shamelessly.

"Oh," is all I muster up. I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved, which surprises me. I _should_ be relieved. I should be glad my best friend, who is a guy, doesn't have feelings for me… yet there's something missing. Nonetheless, I will ignore it. It's easier that way and I don't want things to get complicated. I want things to return to the way they were before any of this even happened. "We cool?" I ask him.

"Mhm," he says.

* * *

**February 20.**

Craig is writhing beneath me, letting me touch him in places that are still new. He moans my name, saying _more, more, more_.

Then I wake up.

_Fuck._

* * *

**March 11.**

I thought that would be the end of it, but no such fucking luck. It's become something of a guilty pattern. I touch him in my dreams and I touch him when I'm awake. Most of the time, we aren't even drunk when we fuck. I feel really fucking bad. Every time I try to talk about it he changes the subject. It's not fair to him. I'm… I'm using him and he's letting me. I don't want to use him.

I'm all confused now. It's been like this ever since the first time we slept together. Now I don't know what to think or feel, particularly about Craig.

I know I'm not gay, but maybe I'm bisexual? I've never given it much thought. Sure, I can admit that some guys are good looking… but I've never met one I actually wanted to fuck. I guess Craig slipped past the radar since I've known him almost my entire life.

It's a Tuesday now and I'm currently in study hall with Craig, Bebe, Nichole and Token. Token is trying to explain string theory to me, but I keep spacing out. My mind is all clouded. In particular, it's clouded with images of Craig without any clothes on.

"So, hey," Bebe leans into Craig. "What were you doing with Terrance Mephesto the other day when I saw you two at the pond?"

"Hanging out," Craig says vaguely.

That gets my attention. My head whips to the side as I shamelessly listen in on their conversation.

Bebe snorts at that. "Did he promise you some crack or something? Everyone says he's a dealer."

"MDMA," Craig decides to admit. "Yeah, he's a dealer. He gave me some."

"Didja hafta get on your knees to get it?" Bebe asks lewdly.

"Not quite," Craig says. More vague answers. He likes playing around like this. He likes the guessing game. He likes keeping people's attention by giving away as little information as possible. That keeps them asking and wanting to know more.

"Dude," I grimace.

"Clyde," Token sighs. "Pay attention. You need to know this stuff."

Bebe continues prying and Token continues trying to explain theories to me while Nichole works diligently on a report for her English course.

Soon enough, the bell rings and everyone scatters apart from Craig, so I stick behind. "Skipping?" I ask him.

"Yes," he says. "It's just PE."

I decide to skip with him. This way, I'll be able to hopefully coax a few answers out of him. "So, you and Terrance?" I question.

Craig smiles faintly at me from across the table. "We had… an… adult sleepover," he says slowly.

I scoff, reading between the lines. "So… he had a sleepover in _your ass_?"

"I guess so," he admits.

I just shake my head at him and I can't help but wonder who else he's fucking. It makes me a little jealous, though I wish it wouldn't. I don't want to feel tied down by a guy like Craig. "And how does the disappointment feel now that it's over?"

"I don't feel anything," he says.

"That's fucked up, dude," I tell him. "Is that why you do this kind of shit?"

Craig laughs mirthlessly. "I've done a lot of stuff you'd probably find fucked up."

"Like what?" I pry. I wish he'd tell me stuff as soon as it happened. I hate finding out about his experiences months or even years later.

"Jason used to convince me to have sex with his friends while he watched," Craig confesses, looking humored as he watches me react. A perverse smile spreads across his face and I have no fucking idea how he can smile when things like this are coming out of his mouth.

"Ew," I mumble. "Did you…? Please say you didn't…"

"I did," he admits. "I'd usually get really drunk beforehand because they were all ugly and stupid."

"What the fuck? _Why _would you do that?" I nearly shout.

"I guess, at that point, I was horny and I felt like it," he says flatly before adding, "and I guess part of me hoped Jason would realize he didn't want to share me and get jealous… but he never did. I think he liked watching people have their way with me. It turned him on. After I got thoroughly used, he'd fuck me, too."

I sneer at that. "Remind me to beat Jason's ass."

Craig smiles faintly. "It's okay," he says. "I mean… As sick as it sounds, a part of me liked it."

I regret sleeping with him because clearly he's not all there right now. "Sorry," is all I say. It comes out as an awkward mumble.

"Kenny once made me wear one of those quiet vibrators when we went out," Craig continues, like he's confessing his sexual sins to me. "We went to get coffee. When I was ordering, he turned the volume up to full speed with a remote. I almost fell on the fucking floor. I remember there was some lady in line behind us with her stupid kids and she kept asking me if I was okay. We sat in the corner and since he wouldn't turn down the volume I ended up cumming in my pants."

"God…" I murmur. That's kind of fucked up and kind of hot, but I won't say that. I don't really want to encourage him.

He gives me another hazy smile, staring at me with his chin in his palm as his elbow rests on the tabletop. "Do you think I'm absolutely disgusting?"

"No," I tell him honestly.

He's searching for a reaction. I know he is. Well, I'm not going to give him one.

"You're such a saint, Clyde," he says with a sigh. "Saint Clyde, always here to reassure me."

I roll my eyes at him. "Stop being a dick."

He purses his lips before leaning over the counter and pushing his mouth against mine. It's a quick peck and then he draws away, rising to his feet. "I'm going home. This is boring."

As always, I follow him. I'd probably follow him to the edge of the earth. I guess that means I kind of do worship him.

* * *

**March 22.**

It's Saturday and, as always, Craig is tying on a good one. We're at Bebe's house. Luckily there are no drinking games tonight. Instead, there's just a bunch of dumb, drunk kids doing what dumb, drunk kids do. Everyone is humping and dancing.

I find Craig in the kitchen making himself another drink. I kind of wish he wouldn't, but I have no right to tell him what he should and shouldn't do.

"Why do you drink so much, Craig?" I ask, coming up behind him.

He glances at me briefly and wrinkles his nose, letting out a soft sigh. "For people like me, it makes things easier. Alcohol makes it easier for me to be around people."

"That's stupid," I mutter.

"I know," he admits as he finishes making his drink. "I'm scared no one will love me properly," he adds. "I'm scared they'll say they do, but then they'll see a part of me they don't like and they'll run away. Like, maybe they won't like me naked. Maybe they'll see me on a bad day after I've had too much to drink. Maybe they'll –"

"Stop," I murmur, cutting him off. "Craig, that's not love. If someone doesn't love all the pieces and parts of you, it's not love and they're not worth _shit_! So, fuck 'em. Fuck anyone who makes you feel like that."

Besides, he doesn't have any flaws when it comes to the way he looks. At least, not in my opinion. I think he's honestly perfect looking, but whatever it is I feel for him isn't some sort of shallow attraction. His looks are just a bonus.

Craig shrugs his shoulders, taking a sip. "If I pretend I'm heartless then I can pretend I don't care what they think. I can play it off. I can laugh at the things they say."

"But then when you're alone you probably feel like total shit," I guess.

He takes another long drink before turning to face me. "Sometimes," he admits.

I lean over him, placing my hands on the counter top and trapping him in between. "Why don't you let yourself have something better, then?"

"I already told you," he murmurs. "People are shit. _I'm_ shit. I don't want to continue to be disappointed when I expect better from them."

"What the hell does it matter?" I ask him. "Even if other people aren't intentionally hurting you, you're still hurting yourself."

Craig smiles hazily, squinting his eyes as he looks up at me. "Shut up, Clyde," he says with finality. "Gonna try and romance me? Well, too bad so sad. I don't want you like that."

"You said you liked me," I mention.

"I already told you it was a lie," he says. "I just wanted a fuck and I knew you were more likely to agree if you thought I had feelings for you. Then you could excuse your gay behaviour as you simply doing a favor for a friend. You're like that, so I took advantage."

I'm not sure whether or not I believe him, but nonetheless I say, "That's really fucking shitty of you, y'know…"

"Cry me a motherfucking river," he retorts. He perches himself up on his tip toes and pecks me on the mouth once, twice and then a third time before parting his lips. I lift my hands from the counter and cup his face in my palms as I tongue him. We part and I kiss his cheek, jaw, and neck, biting him lightly until I hear him say, "Oh, shit."

I pull away, staring at him. He nods behind me and I turn around only to see Bebe leaning in the doorway.

"Well, well, well…" she says smugly, crossing her arms and smirking at us. "What do we have here?"

"Not what you think," Craig points out, mirroring her pose and crossing his arms.

"Are you guys together?"

"No," he says flatly.

"Oh," she murmurs with a frown. "Then… are you guys fucking?" she asks bluntly.

"Yeah," Craig says, slightly humored. "Wanna watch?"

"You guys need to stop," Bebe says stubbornly. As much as she can laugh and joke, she's good at reading situations. Clearly, she understands that there's nothing fun about what's going on here.

"Why?" Craig scoffs. "How many times have I had to listen to you fuck Clyde throughout the years? Countless. Now it's my turn."

She lets out a sigh. "It's not a competition, Craig. Clyde isn't some sort of prize."

"Stop talking down to me," he calls her out. "This is a game. Everything is a game."

"I'm not," I cut in.

"You _are_," he insists. Before he has the chance to say another word, I raise my hand and bring it across his face. His head swings to the side and he emits a soft sound of shock. My palm stings now and there's a red park on his cheek. He touches it lightly, staring at me. "Oh, wow…" He lets out a string of incredibly forced laughs before crumbling and starting to sob. He covers his face, crying into his hands and I immediately feel guilty. I glance at Bebe, who looks saddened and unsure.

I touch Craig's shoulders, but he immediately recoils. "Don't," he pleads desperately, lowering his hands and pushing me away. He takes a step back, staring at me cautiously. His face is flushed, his eyes are glassy, his cheeks are wet and his nose is red.

"I'm sorry…" I offer weakly.

"Whatever," he whispers, grabbing his drink and briskly leaving the room.

Me and Bebe simply stare at each other. "I didn't think Craig ever cried," she confesses quietly.

I snort at that. "He cries a lot… though not typically around people that aren't me. I've just never been the one to make him cry until now. Usually it's his personal issues or shit he gets himself into with random guys."

Bebe clicks her tongue piteously.

After a moment, Kyle saunters into the kitchen and jabs his thumb behind him. "What's wrong with Craig? He looked, like, wicked upset… It was weird."

"Don't worry 'bout him," I say. "He's just a sad drunk tonight. He'll be fine."

He always is.

I bid Bebe a, "See yah later," and then decide to follow after Craig.

I find him at the front entrance looking for his coat with one hand while the other holds his almost-empty cup. He really chugged it.

He's still crying, but clearly he's pretending he's not. It makes me feel guiltier, like a really fucking shitty friend. What kind of asshole hits his best friend? Me, apparently. Usually I'm so good at defusing a bad situation, but he really struck a nerve.

"Here," I murmur, easily finding his coat for him and then helping him find his shoes. I hold his drink as he puts them on and then I find my own things. He finishes his liquor before abandoning the cup and we leave without another word, quietly walking next to one another. It's dark and it's cold and there is snow falling.

"You _hit_ me," Craig says tersely, breaking the silence. There's disbelief in his tone, like he can't process that I'd actually do a thing like that.

"I know," I mumble with a wince. "I'm sorry."

"You've never hit me before… What the fuck _was_ that?"

"I'm _really, really_ sorry…" I say with all the sincerity I can muster.

He doesn't respond after that, nonetheless I walk him home. He always expects me to. The walk isn't long and when we arrive back, his mom immediately questions the red mark on her son's face.

"Some piece of shit hit me," he says vaguely. "I'm fine, though."

Ugh, he knows how to guilt me. Then again… this time I deserve to feel guilty.

We move upstairs after kicking off our boots and hanging up our coats. When we're in Craig's room, he immediately jumps me. It takes me off guard, especially because I just slapped the shit out of him.

"Wait," I say, holding him back by the shoulders. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"What?" he asks.

"I _hit_ you," I say bluntly. "And now, what? You want to fuck?"

"Yes," he admits.

"Clearly you do feel things, Craig," I remind him. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have been upset that I hit you."

"Violence turns me on," he teases. "Come on, Clyde. Mess me up."

"No!" I exclaim.

He only scoffs at me.

* * *

**March 28.**

Craig's drinking and drug habits grow more intense. He spends a lot of nights on the floor and his mother yells and his father gets angry. No more secrets.

"Craig!" Laura shouts as soon as I help Craig through the front door. "This is not okay! You can't just come home drunk and high like this every night! It isn't healthy!"

"Yeah," is all Craig responds with. He steps out of his shoes and takes his jacket off.

"Are you even listening?" Laura asks in disbelief.

"Yeah," he says again in the same, flat tone.

Tonight was like the rest of the nights. Craig got fucked and I had to find him before he got himself into serious shit.

I help him upstairs and into his room before I decide to start questioning him. "What the hell is wrong with you, Craig?" I ask, feeling scared for him because these sorts of habits are so dangerous.

He lets out a sigh, lying down on his bed. He flops lifelessly onto the mattress and says, "I was telling the truth when I told you I can't feel anything… but it comes and it goes. It's like… things that should make me happy don't make me happy. Things that should make me sad don't make me sad. Things that should frustrate me or make me angry don't do that, either. Things that should make me fucking cry just make me think, 'Well, whatever.' Like, I feel disconnected. I just don't care about anything. I don't know… I guess that's how I feel right now and I don't like it so I try to feel something but it never lasts."

"Talk to a doctor…" I suggest, not knowing what else to offer him. "I mean, I don't mind talking to you. I like when you're honest… but I can't help, y'know?"

"S'fine," he says, rolling onto his back and staring up at me. "Sometimes when I feel like this I'll just spend hours sitting still and not doing a damn thing. All I can think about is the fact that nothing feels real, even though I know it is."

"Shit," I murmur.

"Yeah," he snorts. "Shit."

* * *

**April 1. **

The first of the month is usually pretty shitty. It's full of assholes playing pranks that aren't even funny. They're just mean.

When Kyle walks into class and takes his seat, the chair immediately falls apart and Cartman starts cackling. Kyle doesn't hesitate to get to his feet and start beating him up. Everyone else just watches and, by the looks of things, our homeroom teacher isn't even going to bother showing up today.

I see Craig rubbing his forehead, which can mean only one thing: he has a headache and if he has a headache it will probably turn into a migraine.

"Come on," I say to him. "Let's just go."

He nods and follows me out the door after collecting his things. As soon as we step outside we spot Jason, Terrence, Bill and Fosse loitering.

"Aaaaay!" Jason shouts when he spots us. By the way he's slurring the word, I can only assume he's drunk. He runs towards us and grabs Craig from behind, swinging him around. He lets out a girlish scream and protests. All I can do is laugh. When Jason lets him go, he falls down.

"Ass!" he growls, picking himself up.

Jason chortles, loving nothing more than to get Craig riled up. I guess a lot of people are like that. There's something satisfying that comes with breaking past Craig's stoic mask.

"So, Jason… Are you drunk?" I ask.

He nods and smiles. "Pretty much."

"Dude, it's only ten!" I exclaim.

"It's a holiday," he justifies himself.

"It's April fucking Fool's day," I snort. "That's not a holiday."

He waves a dismissive hand at me and insists otherwise. A moment later, his friends call him back over and he ditches us. Craig looks relieved. He's been bitter ever since Jason ended their _physical_ _relationship_. They never dated. They just fucked around. I was surprised when I found out, let me tell you. I found out because Jason thought it'd be funny to send me a Snapchat of Craig in a compromising position.

"How's your head?" I ask him once we exit the school grounds. He only raises an eyebrow at me, so I add, "I saw you rubbing it in class. You looked tense."

"Oh," he murmurs. "I'm fine. Just annoyed."

"Because our classmates are morons?" I venture.

He smiles slightly. "Yeah, pretty much that."

I swear I'm the only person he smiles at. I kind of like it.

* * *

**April 18.**

Craig has another migraine. So, we spend the day in his bed. The blinds are closed and the room is dark. The fan is blowing in his face and I'm pressing an ice pack to his head yet again. God damn it, I'm such a good friend. I don't know any guys who would do this for their girlfriend let alone their best bro.

* * *

**May 4.**

Me and Craig are sitting around in my room doing our homework. Well, he's not really doing his. He's just bumming around. He doesn't care about school. His marks are shit. I don't think he has any goals or aspirations. He'll probably get a dull job after he graduates.

"_Nice and boring, just the way I like it." _

Sometimes I wonder if it's truly what he likes.

The teachers all go easy on him because they know he's depressed. I know Craig hates it, but he doesn't say anything about it because he knows if he actually does end up failing, his mom would be upset.

Contrary to popular belief, Craig has a lot of guilt. He carries it around with him.

"Craig…?" I say his name.

"Mm?" he acknowledges me, but doesn't glance my way. He's playing with his phone. Maybe he's talking to someone.

"Who are yah texting?" I pry.

"Kenny," he reveals and I don't like the sound of that.

"Why?" I pry further.

"Because he started a conversation…" Craig says slowly, turning to look at me. "Why? Jealous?"

"No!" I insist, getting a little too defensive.

He gives me one of his sweet but cynical smiles before returning his attention to his phone. That's the kind of smile I hate. He's mocking me.

"Y'know," I continue, staring down at my homework. "You should really see a therapist."

"Shut up, Clyde."

* * *

**May 23.**

Craig is having a bad day. He won't stay still. It's like he thinks that if he stops, then he'll be forced to think about things he'd rather keep setting aside.

"Craig, just sit for a minute," I tell him from my place on his bed. Watching him pace back and forth is making me dizzy.

He keeps pushing his hands through his hair. He looks distraught and he keeps taking these deep, heaving breaths. It sounds like he's having a hard time breathing.

"You're going to make yourself sick," I warn him.

"I'm _already_ sick," he snaps at me.

I hold up my hands defensively. I don't want him to direct his anger towards me. "Okay, I'm sorry."

He lets out a quiet breath, sitting at the edge of his mattress with is back facing me. "This is the longest I've been single since I started dating," he murmurs offhandedly.

"This is a good thing, dude," I tell him. "I think you need some time to be single and just… focus on you, y'know? Does it bother you?"

"Yeah," he admits. "It shouldn't. I shouldn't feel the need to always have someone… but I do. I need someone to reassure me. I need to feel wanted. It makes me feel… more complete."

"Right," I murmur slowly. I don't really get it. I just think it's sad.

"They only love me when I'm happy," he says, sounding meek. "The second I feel like shit, it changes. I'm unlovable and no one stays. They pretend to understand when I tell them about it but the second they have to deal with my depression they're gone. They can't handle it. They say I bring them down. They say I'm hard to be around. They say I suck the life and energy out of the room." He pauses and lets out a shuddery sigh. I can tell how hard this is for him to say. He's not one for emotional confessions. "It's times like that when I need love the most, though," he continues. "There are times I literally cannot force myself out of bed. I need someone else to force me out. There are times when I forget there are good things in life. I need someone to remind me. I guess I sound dependent. I guess I am dependent. Times like those are when I need human contact the most, yet it's when everyone seems to run the other way…" He's crying by now and I feel so fucking bad for him, but I'm not sure what I can do to help him.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. I inch closer and sitting behind him so I can rub his back.

"It's lonely," he murmurs. "No one truly understands. My parents stay because they have to. My sister stays because she has to. They try to drag me out of bed on bad days. Ruby tries to talk me out of my sadness, but she gets so tired of constantly having to reassure me. I'm the oldest. I should be taking care of her, not the other way around." He lets out another quiet sigh, bringing a hand up and swiping at his cheeks briskly. "I guess that's why I move so fast and why I can't bear to stay single. It's like I'm searching for something in all these guys I date. I don't know what, though… Acceptance, maybe?"

"Craig, you don't need them to accept you," I offer.

"People run the other way when things are no longer fun," he finishes.

"I won't," I promise him. I put my hands on his shoulders and squeeze lightly.

"I spoke to my mom," he admits as an afterthought. "I told her what was happening in my life. I told her the bad things and she hugged me when I started crying. I felt like a fucking baby."

"Don't feel that way," I say with empathy. "It's good you're being honest with her."

He shifts on the bed, turning around so we're facing each other better. "It's hard," he murmurs. "I've gotten so used to lying to everyone… Even you."

"About what?" I ask.

"I was lying when I said I didn't like you," he says before admitting, "I do. I do like you. I just wish I didn't."

"Let me take you out, then," I request.

He gives me a strange look. "Why?"

"Because I want to," I say. "I want to do it right. I want to make you happy."

"Happy," he repeats with a snort. "Happy, happy, happy. Imagine that. Imagine Craig Tucker happy."

"It's possible, you know," I offer.

"Maybe," he murmurs, though it's half-hearted.

* * *

**June 20. **

Exam week just passed and we'll be graduating now. Well, Craig isn't attending the ceremony. Neither am I. I have no reason to go and Craig doesn't like the thought of people watching him walk across a stage.

Things are looking up, though. Craig relents and now we're sitting in the waiting room of the mental health clinic.

He hasn't exactly let me take him out yet, but that's fine. It doesn't need to happen now.

Soon enough, he gets called in and I sit still, waiting for him. I play with my phone, leaf through magazines, play with my phone some more. After an hour, he leaves the room.

"How'd it go?" I ask, rising to my feet and following him out the door. He shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't answer me right away. When we're outside, he lets out a breath and his usual frown deepens. "Craig…?"

"So, now on top of being fucking depressed, I am experiencing episodic depersonalization," he reveals with a shrug.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I sympathize.

"According to my doctor there is often a reason for it," he continues with a sigh. "He thinks it's how my anxiety has manifested over the years."

"Shit," I say again.

"Hm," he mumbles. "There's no medication available… there are some pills I can take to help with the symptoms, but I don't want to take more pills. Instead, my doctor wants to figure out if something specifically triggered the disorder or if it was just _everything_."

"That's a good thing, right?" I ask him.

He wrinkles his nose and shrugs again. "I just hate talking to people… especially people I don't know. You're the only person I don't hate to talk to."

"Well, I'm always here to listen," I promise him.

"I know," he says before adding, "and thanks."

"Sure, dude," I say, tossing an arm around him and squeezing his shoulder.

"Drinking makes it worse," he murmurs, "yet I can't stop."

I wince, but he doesn't see it. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," he says, but he probably does. He probably just doesn't want to think about it. "It's always been a problem, right? My drinking?"

"Yeah," I agree cautiously. I don't want him to get pissed at me.

"I don't know what's worse," he admits. "Feeling sad or feeling absolutely nothing… What would you rather feel?"

"Sad," I tell him. "I think it'd be a bit less scary than feeling nothing… y'know?"

"Yeah," he agrees softly.

I steer him down the street and near the side of the road where I parked my car. He gets in the passenger seat while I settle in the driver's seat. The drive back is silent. Craig plays with the radio the entire time, switching channels. He's not a music fan, so I know he's just looking for a distraction. He doesn't want me asking any more questions. So, I zip my lips.

I don't know how a person can be indifferent towards music. I always thought music was something everyone liked… but not Craig. He doesn't like noise. I guess that's why. Yet, still, he'll go to parties. I guess it's the alcohol he finds tantalizing.

Craig doesn't like movies much, either. He also doesn't like television. He used to be a big fan of Red Racer, but the show went off the air when we were eleven. Nothing else has managed to grab his attention. Craig has very little focus and has a hard time concentrating on things. He spaces out a lot.

God. I feel like I know Craig better than I know myself. Maybe it works both ways. Maybe he was right when he said he knew me better than I know myself.

When we near Craig's house, he turns the radio off. "What are you thinking about?" he asks me.

"You," I admit.

"Fag," he taunts.

I smile slightly. "Yeah, yeah."

I park the car in his driveway and we both get out. Inside, Laura asks him how his appointment went. He vaguely tells her it was fine. When she pries, he tells her about his appointment. She nods and listens and when he's finished talking she gives him a hug and then some reassurance.

Seeing a mother as affectionate and nice as Laura makes me miss mine, even though she wasn't really affectionate or nice.

Afterward, Craig takes me to his room. "Years of repressed emotions are taking a toll," he says, flopping backwards onto his mattress.

"That's nothing new," I remind him, sitting next to him and staring down at his closed eyes. I want to reach forward and touch him, but he would probably slap me away. I want to kiss him, but he'd probably shove me. These thoughts still surprise me and I can't help but find them foreign.

"Hm," he agrees vaguely.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask him.

"Myself," he says. "Bad things about myself."

"You shouldn't do that," I tell him. "It's not really healthy."

"Nothing I do is healthy," he reminds me. "Sometimes when I think about all the guys I let touch me I want to fucking die," he admits with a snort.

"Then why do you still go after random dudes?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I've already told you why. I can't help it. I don't want to start whining for the people in my life to give me more attention so I settle on strangers because they're easier to handle. People think I don't want attention so they don't ever give me any… but sometimes I crave it. I guess that's why I sleep around. I do it to feel close to people."

"Well… you shouldn't define yourself by the way you see yourself reflected in others," I say, trying to reason with him.

"That's how others define me," he murmurs. "It bothers me. I guess I can't keep pretending it doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?"

"No," I promise. "I still like you all the same. I don't see you that way."

"How do you see me?" he wonders.

"You're my best friend," I tell him simply.

"And…?" he urges. It's like he needs me to reassure him.

"And I love you, dude," I continue. I don't mind reassuring him if it's what he needs. "I don't care how many people have touched you, it doesn't make me think any less of you. I still think the world of you. I still want to take you out on a date. I still want to be by your side and take care of you as best as I can and offer you support when you need it. I'd give you the world if you asked for it."

"Thanks," he says in a soft tone. I can tell he means it. "And for the record… I'd never ask for the world."

I smile slightly. "I know, but I'd still give it to you."

* * *

**July 15. **

Summer is easy.

Craig got a job in the mall. He now works at H&amp;M. He complains about it a lot. He's still doing therapy, but I'm not entirely sure if there's been any difference.

Tonight I'm taking him out. At least that gives me something to look forward to while I slave away.

Much to my dismay, Jason pops in about an hour before my shift is over. "Hey," he greets me as he fishes out his debit card. "Where's Tucker at lately?"

"He got a job," I say, ringing him in. "He's home now, though."

Jason just nods his head, putting his card in the machine. "Dunno how you stand to spend so much time with him, man."

"Why?" I ask somewhat tersely.

"He's insane," Jason explains simply.

"That didn't stop you from rattling the bedposts with him," I recall with bitter sentiment.

He chortles at that, removing his debit card when the machine accepts payment. "The word?" he asks before answering, "Stamina."

"Ugh," I mutter. "You're so awful."

"Yeah," he laughs shamelessly, putting his wallet away. "Anyway, see yah."

"Yeah," is all I say.

Wow, what a dick.

I try not to think about what he said or the fact that pretty much half of our old class has been up Craig's ass at some point. I told him it didn't bother me… and it doesn't, but that doesn't mean I want to have it rubbed in my face either.

Since it's dead here, the boss lets me leave early. Lucky me. I decide to head to Craig's house even though it's only 5PM.

When I pull into his driveway, I park and then let myself inside. "Hello?" I call, but there's no answer. Craig is probably asleep. I take off my shoes and head upstairs, pausing in my tracks when I hear noises beyond Craig's closed door. I feel myself frown as I press my ear to the door. I hear hushed, stifled moans and gasps.

What. The. Fuck.

I reach for the door handle and open it slowly. What I see makes me want to burn my eyes out of my skull. Craig is inside and he's not alone. Jason is fucking him missionary style and the entire scene makes me want to hurl. Jason's fully dressed with his jeans around his knees. Craig, on the other hand, is only wearing his t-shirt and it's pushed up, revealing his stomach.

For a moment, neither of them notices me. So, I decide to make my presence known. I open my mouth and clear my throat.

Craig's expression changes when he spots me. "Oh, no…" he murmurs.

I cross my arms and stare at him. "What the hell is this?"

Jason lets out a sound of blatant irritation, pausing his thrusting and turning his head to stare at me. "We're kind of in the middle of something, dude."

Of all the fucking nerve…

"Clearly," I say dryly.

"Clyde, wait," Craig pleads, sounding breathless and afraid. He tries to sit up, but Jason puts a hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

With a scoff, I turn around and leave. I feel angry and betrayed, but not entirely shocked. Craig once told me he has a hard time saying no and what's worse is that he has a history with Jason.

I stomp down the stairs and I hear Craig shout my name once more but I ignore him. After putting on my shoes, I slam the door on my way out and I get in my car, driving straight home.

Why would he pull a stunt like this after telling me he wants to go out?

Jason is such a piece of slime. He came into the store today on purpose. God, he's such a smug fuck. I hate him. He planned this.

I grit my teeth and keep my eyes on the road. My eyes feel like they're burning and I feel stupid for getting so upset over this, but I am upset. I'm _really_ upset. I feel stupid for thinking that things were getting better and I feel stupider for thinking that Craig was just going to change overnight.

When I get home, I start crying. I trudge up the stairs and lock myself in my room, kicking my shoes off again.

I hate my bedroom. I hate this house. It doesn't feel like home. Craig's house feels like home. It's always been like that.

There are sports team posters on my walls and clothes all over my floor. It's messy. I can't be fucked to clean it up. I never got away with a messy room when my mom was alive, but my dad never scolds me for it. He doesn't pay much attention to me and my sister moved to New York for work. I think she was happy to get away. I can't blame her for leaving me here.

I move towards my bed, sitting in the center and burying my face in my hands. I let out a shuddery breath, stifling more miserable sounds and trying to convince myself that this shouldn't hurt.

* * *

**July 16. **

I didn't end up hearing from Craig last night. No surprise.

Today is my day off and I thought I'd just end up spending it with Craig, but it doesn't look like that is going to happen. I already know what will happen from here on. Craig will come to me. He'll get emotional. He won't say he's sorry, but he'll express regret. I'll melt into a puddle because my soft spot for him makes me weak. We'll move on.

But still… It hurts.

I spend the day in bed. I debate on calling a friend, but I decide against it because I don't know who I'd call. Usually when I feel this shitty I'd ring up Craig, but I can't do that because he's the problem.

* * *

**July 17. **

Craig finally finds me. It's noon and I work in a few hours but I'm still lying in bed. I haven't moved since yesterday. I haven't shaved in days. I feel too lazy.

"Your dad let me in…" he starts awkwardly, moving forward slowly. His movements are cautious, almost like he's afraid. He looks like he hasn't showered today. His hair is stuck up and he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

I sit up and stare at him. "Why?" is all I ask. It's a vague question, but I know he'll understand. My voice is cold and terse. I try not to sound angry, but I can't help it.

"J-Jason asked me and I couldn't say no," he confesses meekly. Any second now he'll start crying and I will feel guilty.

"Why?" I ask again.

"Because I want to _feel_ things, Clyde!" He raises his voice and it pisses me off.

"So, what? You wanted him to fuck you?"

"No!" he shouts, letting out a sob.

"Then why the hell did you let him?" I ask sharply.

He recoils, backing away until he's against the wall. He sinks to the carpet slowly and starts to bawl.

I rip the covers off of me and get out of bed, standing in front of him. "Stop!" I demand.

He doesn't. He only cries harder while saying something to me that's completely undecipherable. It makes me think about what Token always used to say. Craig cries to get himself out of trouble. Part of me is wondering if that's true.

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty…. stop_,_" I snap at him. "I don't give a _fuck."_

For a minute, he tries visibly to calm himself. "Me neither," he admits airily, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Maybe that's why I always sabotage myself." His eyes are bloodshot and glassy. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing him like this, no matter how many times it happens.

"Well, you need to stop," I tell him.

"I know!" he shrieks in a loud keen. He's getting defensive again. He bring his shaky hands up to his face and swipes at his cheeks briskly. He looks messy and distraught, but he's still perfect.

With an impatient sigh, I offer him my hand. When he doesn't take it, I bend down and grab both of his wrists, forcing him to his feet. He goes limp a split second later, so I drag him to my bed. By now I'm crying because he's crying and I don't know how to just make him fucking stop. Things are getting so messy.

I sit Craig on the edge of my bed and he leans forward, staring down at his hands and away from me.

"We need to talk about this," I say.

"I _can't_," he moans.

I sit down next to him and let out a breath, sniffling loudly when I feel snot. "Look at us," I murmur. "What a mess."

He's quiet. Every minute or so he raises a hand and wipes his eyes, but he doesn't talk.

"I have work," I say. "It's a short shift, but I still need to go."

"Can I stay here?" he asks quietly. "I'll talk when you come back."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"All right," I relent. I stand up and I move towards my closet, grabbing my khakis and slipping into them before grabbing my polo and name tag.

I can feel Craig's eyes on me. When I turn back around he's under the covers in my bed, staring at me.

"You'll be okay here?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says.

With a simple nod, I'm gone. I'm in the car, down the road and around the corner. I park and make my way inside, loudly announcing my presence before taking over the cash register.

I will force Craig to the back of my mind and simply concentrate on work. I hope it's a busy day. That way it will go by quicker. Unfortunately, it seems dead as ever.

I restock cigarettes and bags of chip until the bell rings, letting me know a customer walked in. I make my way back around the counter and force back a sneer when I see Jason. Great. The one person I _don't_ want to see.

As soon as he spots me, he starts chortling. "Heeey," he says.

I don't respond. I simply ring him in.

"Come on, don't be mad," he urges.

Again, I don't respond.

"Clyde, don't be a faggot!" he snaps. "I was just playing around. Jesus Christ, I didn't think you'd care."

"Liar," I call him out. "You knew I'd care and that's why you did it."

"Yeah, you're right," he snorts, relenting and admitting the truth. He takes out his wallet and pays in cash. As I count his change, he adds, "Craig can't be satisfied by just one guy. Even when I was fucking him I knew he was getting dick elsewhere."

"Shut the fuck up," I say evenly, giving him a handful of quarters and dimes.

He pockets it and continues his reign of terror. "I'm just looking out for you, dude. Craig is a slut and you won't be able to make one another happy."

"Leave," I bite out.

And he finally does.

God damn, that took a lot of self-control. I hope I never see Jason again. I feel like if I do, I'll probably start a fight.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to stay calm and let the anger melt away. I force a smile on my face and act serene and polite with the rest of the customers that walk in.

A few hours later, I'm making my way home. I'm somewhat wary, though I know I shouldn't be. It's just Craig. My best friend.

Things are going to be okay. Craig will be okay, I will be okay and we will be okay.

Once inside, I go straight upstairs and find Craig asleep in the center of my bed. The room is dark, but I don't turn on the lights. I debate on letting him sleep because I know he has a hard time with it. I stand in front of my nightstand and turn on the lamp, lighting up the room with a dim glow.

I quietly change out of my work clothes and into something comfier, but when I turn around Craig starts moaning in his sleep. At first I think he's having a sex-related dream but when I move closer I see that he's distressed. Any minute now he'll start screaming. A split second later he bolts upright and starts thrashing and shouting nonsense.

I sit with him, but I know not to wake him. His eyes are wide and wet and he looks so fucking scared. It kills me to watch. I always want to wake him, but I know I'd be rebuffed. I just stay by his side, ready to stop him if he tries to hurt himself.

It always feels like forever.

And then it finally stops. He's quiet again and peaceful. I bend over and put a palm on his jaw, brushing my thumb across his damp cheek.

His eyes flutter open a mere moment later. "Clyde?" he asks hoarsely.

"Yeah," I say softly. "You were screaming."

"Oh," he murmurs. He knows what that means and it makes his cheeks turn pink.

"Don't be embarrassed," I say. "Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"

"I hardly ever do," he responds vaguely. He hates talking about it. You can't really blame him for it. He sits up slowly and rubs his eyes.

"So, let's start this," I proposition and he immediately starts fidgeting and wringing his hands together. "Come on, Craig," I urge. "I was going to take you out and you decided to sleep with Jason. _Why_?"

"He came to the door," he starts quietly. "We didn't even exchange any words at first. I was surprised to see him standing there and he just let himself in and as soon as the door shut he forced himself on me. I just… I just went with it and we took it upstairs."

"But why didn't you push him away?" I ask somewhat pleadingly.

"I don't know," Craig whispers.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"No," he confesses wetly. He lets out a shuddery breath and I can tell he's trying to stifle himself. "I'm ashamed," he says decidedly.

I don't know whether or not to tell him he should or shouldn't be. "_Why_ are you ashamed?"

"Because I'm a stupid idiot who can't say no… even when I should," he grits out.

"I'm not mad because you slept with someone," I tell him. "I'm mad because you chose to do it the day we had a date… I'm not the kind of guy who just goes out with people willy-nilly. Especially not guys. You're the first and only guy I've ever really had feelings for. I asked you out because I feel like we have potential. I feel like we'd be good together. Don't you feel that way, too?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"So, come on," I say quietly. "Stop fucking around with me." He starts choking up again. I can tell he feels bad about it. He moves to cover his face but I grab his wrists and force him to look at me. "No more hiding," I tell him.

He leans into me. "I'm sorry," he murmurs for what feels like the first time ever. "I'm sorry, Clyde… Sorry…"

It's weird to hear him apologize. For a moment, I can't respond. Instead, I just bring an arm around his back and pull him towards me. "He took advantage of you," I realize. "He knew you wouldn't push him away even if you didn't want it."

"Are you going to forgive me?" he asks, pressing his face into the crook of my neck.

"Yeah, I forgive you," I tell him, "but I don't forgive Jason. I can't. I'll fucking kill him if he touches you again, I swear to God."

"Can we rest now?" he pleads, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

I know the conversation isn't over, but I can tell he's emotionally drained and I don't mind if we continue it another day. So, I say, "Yeah, we can rest."

Craig lies back down and I lie with him, playing the big spoon. It feels nice. It feels easy. It feels right to have him like this.

We stay glued together, fitting perfectly against one another. I breathe in the faint smell of mint and a mix of something sweet. The smell of Craig.

* * *

**July 27. **

Things are quiet again. Me and Craig are both off today, so I'm going to try and take him out again. I hope nothing else gets in the way, but I won't be surprised if something else goes wrong. We seem like an unlucky pair.

I spend the morning trying not to let my nerves or insecurities get to me. I end up calling Bebe and talking to her for an hour. I tell her what's been going on with me and Craig and how Jason tried to fuck it all up just because he could. She lets out a chuckle and says, "_I can't say any of that surprises me_."

"Didn't think it would," I snort.

We continue to talk a bit more and she helps me feel more at ease with where the night is heading.

"All right, I'll talk to you later," I tell her as I eye the digital clock on my nightstand. I should start to ready myself.

"_Give me dirty details later!"_ she requests.

"We're going on a date, Bebe," I say dryly. "Just a date."

I hear her laughing on the other end. "_If you say so! Bye!"_

I hang up after that, but I feel myself smiling.

I toss my phone onto my bed and turn into the bathroom. I finally shave, take a quick shower and then dry off, moving into my room with a towel wrapped around my waist. I decide to dress nice. I put on a pair of beige khakis and a nice shirt. I stare at myself in the mirror. Yeah. I look pretty good.

Around 5PM, I stick my wallet in my pocket and I put on my shoes before leaving the house. I drive down the street to pick Craig up and when I park, I move up the stairs to knock on his door.

Laura answers and it just occurred to me that we'll have to tell his parents.

"Hi," I hold up my hand. "I'm here to pick up Craig."

"So, you're taking him out?" she asks with a slight smile.

I smile, probably looking a little sheepish. "Yeah, I am."

She nods her head, still smiling. "I'm glad." After that she turns around and shouts for Craig to come downstairs. A brief moment later, he appears at the top of the stairs.

"Hey," he says, making his way down. He's wearing black pants and a dark blue cotton sweater.

"Hey," I echo as he slips into his shoes.

After bidding Laura a goodbye, me and Craig leave and get into my car.

"So… you shaved," Craig points out.

"Yeah," I chuckle, pulling out of his driveway.

"You look nice."

"So do you," I return. Then again, he always does.

Since everything in South Park is nearby, it doesn't take us long to arrive at the restaurant. I take him to the nicest restaurant in South Park – which isn't all that nice, but it's the best I can do. We're seated in the corner. It's nice and private and I know Craig will feel more at ease this way.

"You should let me cook for you one of these days," I suggest as we pour over the menus.

"You can cook?" he sounds surprised.

"Yeah," I say. "Ever since my mom died I kind of had to become more independent. I have lots of hidden talents."

"Show me them," he requests.

"I will," I promise.

Soon the waiter comes to our table and we both order our meals. As we wait, she brings us both our drinks.

"I was wondering…" Craig starts once the waiter disappears. "When did you start to like me back?"

"After we had sex," I admit. "I guess I just realized what I wanted, stupid as that sounds. It's something I never even considered, y'know?"

"Yeah," he murmurs in response. "I guess it's good I decided to be a total whore that night."

"Come on, don't call yourself that," I try to reason, but I know my words don't mean much. Craig is always harsh on himself and I doubt that will change any time soon. It's a shame, really. It's sad. I wish he could see himself the way I see him. Then maybe he'd be a little happier.

"It's hard not to," he says.

"Fake it 'til you make it," I tell him, but I guess it's probably even harder when there are guys like Jason who like to play games.

Soon, the waiter returns with our food. I continue talking as I eat and Craig picks at his food like he's mildly uncomfortable or maybe paranoid. The anxiety. I don't really get what it's like to live with that much anxiety. I don't know what kinds of things he worries about. I know how much he hates talking about the depth of his problems, even with me.

I continue chattering and I manage to pull a few smiles out of Craig.

"So, what's on your mind?" I ask him out of the blue.

"I'm just thinking," he says. "I don't know how to make the transition from best friends to…" He pauses. "What are we? What's the goal?"

"Well, if things continue to go well then I'll ask you to be my boyfriend," I explain. "That okay?"

He nods his head. "Yeah, I want that," he confesses.

"Who would'a thought me and you'd end up together," I muse.

"Not me," he admits, "but sometimes I hoped for it. You were always the one who treated me best. I know sometimes I'd take advantage of that… but I'll stop. I'll try to be a better person."

I can't help but chuckle at him. "I never held it against you, so don't worry."

He rolls his eyes at me, but in good humor.

We continue eating and talking and when we're finished, I pay the bill.

"Up for a movie?" I ask on our way out.

"Sure," he says. "We can sit in the back and make out the entire time."

I like the sound of that.

Outside, it's getting dim. We hop in the car and make our way to the movie theater. We don't put much thought into what we want to watch because we both know we won't really be watching it. We settle on an action film that probably has more explosions than dialogue. After buying the tickets and a large soda, we move into the theater. It's pretty barren. Hopefully it stays that way.

Commercials play on the big screen as the lights dim. Soon, the movie starts and a group of kids pile into the theater.

"Fuck," I say under my breath, immediately recognizing Jason, Terrance, bill and Fosse.

"What?" Craig asks before realizing what it is I'm staring at – or rather, _who_. "Oh… fuck," he repeats me.

I hope they don't notice us. I stare ahead at the screen and my stomach knots when I hear Jason shout, "Hey!"

Damn it.

Craig lets out a very loud sigh as they make their way towards us.

"Oooh, hot date?" Terrance asks with a laugh.

"It's not really any of your business," I say calmly.

They end up sitting two seats ahead of us. Fortunately, they don't pay us much attention. They talk amongst themselves and when the movie starts they fall silent.

The first half of the movie goes by smoothly. Craig gets bored and makes the first move. Naturally, I don't hesitate to kiss him back with just as much vigor.

"Shame, shame!" Jason taunts us after mere seconds, eliciting chortles and chuckles from his idiot friends.

Craig pulls away from me and presses his lips together. He's getting mad, I can tell. Before I can stop him, he reaches for the soda and pulls the cover off, dumping it on Jason's head.

"What the fuck!" Jason roars.

Craig doesn't hover after that. He moves down the aisle and runs out of the theater. Jason follows and so do I, not wanting them to start fighting. Luckily, Terrance, Bill and Fosse stay behind.

The three of us tear through the crowded hallway, past groups of people waiting in line for later shows. If Jason reaches Craig, he'll probably beat the shit out of him.

Soon enough, we're exiting the theater and they're running through the parking lot. Jason inevitably catches up with Craig, tugging on the back of his shirt and shoving him onto the pavement.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Jason snaps, curling and uncurling his fists.

"Guys, don't fight," I try to do damage control as I hover next to Jason. I help Craig up and he brushes himself off.

"Gonna hit me?" he asks Jason, who raises his fist but then hesitates. "Do it," Craig challenges, getting up in Jason's face. "Hit me!"

Jason halts and I decide to cut in again, grabbing Craig under the armpits and dragging him away.

"He couldn't do it," I point out, mildly surprised.

"I knew he wouldn't be able do," Craig admits.

I won't say it, but it kind of makes me feel like a dick that Jason clearly has more self-control than I do. It didn't take much for me to slap Craig in the face. Just a few harsh words.

"That felt good, though," he admits.

"You shouldn't egg Jason on," I try to reason. "He could have hurt you, y'know. He's stronger than you are."

Craig rolls his eyes, not seeming like he cares all that much about the potential danger.

"So, would you say this was a successful first date?" I ask with a laugh.

"Yeah, I think so," he says, smiling faintly. "It was the best one I've been on."

I grin at that. "Good."

We don't bother going back inside. I turn around and see that Jason is long gone. He's probably back with his friends by now. Well, good.

Me and Craig find my car and then I drive him home. When I pull into his driveway I walk him to his door and I peck him on the lips when we reach his porch step. It's chaste and quick, but it means a hell of a lot.

"Wanna just come inside?" he offers.

Naturally, I accept and as soon as we step through the door Laura and Thomas and Ruby are ready to play twenty questions.

"_Where did you go?"_

"_What did you do?" _

"_What did you eat?" _

"_What movie did you see?" _

"_Was it good?" _

I answer patiently while Craig waits impatiently for them to stop. He kicks off his shoes and then decides to cut in with, "Enough questions." He takes my arm and announces, "We'll be upstairs."

"Don't make too much noise," Laura warns lightly while Thomas just grumbles.

Ruby hands us a knowing smile and says, "Craig can't be quiet when he's having sex."

"Shut up," he retorts while I rub my temples.

Thomas lets out a sigh and moves back into the living room, turning the volume up on the television.

With a sigh, Craig drags me upstairs and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind us. "I think my mom is happy we're together," he admits. "She always liked you the best – a hell of a lot more than any guy I brought him."

"Well, I'm quite the charmer," I say with a wink.

"So, are we gonna do it?" he asks me.

"Do what?"

"Have sex," he specifies.

"Your parents are downstairs!" I exclaim.

He rolls his eyes. "So, what? They think we're doing it anyway. Come on. We've had sex before. I want to feel something. Make me feel something."

"Is this the way, though?" I wonder. "Don't you want to take things slow?"

He laughs at that. "No. Stop treating me like I'm made of glass, for fuck's sake. It's not like we're going to be doing something we haven't done before."

"That was months ago," I point out. "We haven't slept together since March."

"Don't tell me you've forgotten how?" he taunts and I can't help but snort back a laugh. "Okay, teasing aside, I really do want to sleep with you," he says, standing in front of me and tugging on the rim of my shirt.

Ah, fuck it, I want to sleep with him, too. So, instead of spitting out a string of less than eloquent words and totally ruining the mood, I just lean forward and kiss him.

And it escalates from there.

With frantic hands, we rip at each other's clothes, tearing them off in a hurry. He digs out the bottle of lube from his nightstand and hands me a condom.

I bend him over the mattress briskly. Face first into the pillows, Craig lets me take control. He's done so ever since I learned what to do.

He lets out a shuddery breath as I urge his legs apart, stretching him out. "Mm…" he mumbles, turning his head to the side and pressing his cheek against the pillow. "Just do it already…"

"Soon, soon," I say leisurely. I like this part far too much to rush things. This position suits Craig – face down, back arched and ass up. Like this, he's vulnerable and exposed and I want to be the only person who gets to see him like this.

Craig twitches and lets out breathy, impatient moans, all while trying to stifle himself.

After more touching, I flip him over so he's on his back. I want to look at him this time. Grabbing his legs, I push them apart and kneel between them. I'm slow. Careful. I put my palms on his stomach. He's warm. Soft. Smooth. He feels nice beneath my fingers. We lock eyes and he doesn't tell me to hurry up this time. Instead he pulls me down, pushing his lips against mine and nudging them apart. Tongues clash, hips grind and it's even better than all the other times we've fucked. Maybe it's because I know he's finally mine.

When we part, we move in perfect synchronicity. He pants and gasps, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. There's nothing better than this.

He chokes out words like "more" and "faster" and I comply because every wish of his is my command.

We finish in unison like we're starring in some romance novel and I collapse on top of him. We're breathing, sweaty messes.

Craig brings his legs and arms around me, keeping me close. "Best I've ever had," he says somewhat lightly and I emit a throaty chuckle. One of his hands moves up my back and through my hair. "I'm a dependent person," he says suddenly. "I know it's not right, but I don't feel like that will ever change. I depend on all the people around me one way or another. I depend on you greatly. Sometimes I'll be a lot to handle."

"I don't mind," I tell him.

"I know I don't mean anything," he continues. "I don't matter. In the grand scheme of things, no one matters. I'm not talking about the cosmic universe and all that bigger-than-me shit. I'm just talking about this world. More specifically, this place right here. I frustrate people. Not many people care that I'm suffering."

"I care," I tell him.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I guess you do. I guess that's why I've always liked you. You're nice to me, even when I don't deserve it. You're patient. You know I'm not okay but you still stick around and you don't make me feel bad about it. You make me feel safe. You offer me so much and I wish I could do the same for you."

"You do," I insist, but all he does is look at me with a doubtful expression. "I like you," I add. "Well, I more than like you."

He smiles faintly. "I more than like you, too."

I guess that means I love him. I've said it enough times, but never in this context. I've never looked at him and said, "_Hey, I'm in love with you_." He hasn't said it to me, either, but I know it doesn't matter because we both feel it. We both feel something big and strong and new.

Still. Someday soon I'll tell him.

* * *

**August 04. **

Things are going well. I asked Craig to be my boyfriend after two more dates and many more fucks and he said yes. So, I guess that means we're exclusive. Finally. The entire ordeal feels quite arduous when I think back on it.

I spent the night at Craig's. His bedroom door is locked and we're lying together naked, groggy limbs tangled together in the sheets. I could easily stay like this all day, but unfortunately we both have to work.

Craig is still sleeping. No nightmares tonight and for that I'm glad. I stare at him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes. He looks calm like this. Content. I wish he could always feel that way, but I know it's in vain to wish it. I accept Craig and all that he is. Being sick isn't a flaw, but I accept those, too.

Soon, he stirs and his eyes flutter open and he looks at me. I say, "Good morning," and watch as he wipes sleep from his eyes.

We continue to laze around until noon. Forcing ourselves out of bed, we throw our clothes on and ready ourselves for yet another new day.

Downstairs, Laura and Thomas are drinking coffee in the living room while Ruby flicks through the channels on the television. When they notice me and Craig, all eyes are on us as we say goodbye. With a roll of his eyes, Craig takes my arm and we both step outside to greet cool, summer air.

"I love you," he says for the first time. It's a sudden confession, but I welcome it.

"I love you, too," I echo and the words come out easy. I smile a small smile and the timing feels right. I wanted to be the first to say it, but I kept hesitating because love is something new and something scary. Or, so I thought. But what I feel isn't scary. What I feel… It feels right. It's kind and warm and all the good things.

I cup his face in my hands and peck him on the lips. Again I feel it. That thing called love.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks when we break apart.

"Tomorrow," I agree.

And all the days after.

**Fin.**


End file.
